


A Baser Argument

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Arguing, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras engage in a dirtier discourse than usual, and then go home to Grantaire's together in its aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Baser Argument

Enjolras was no longer engaging in speech and discourse: he sat with Courfeyrac and he matched his peer drink for drink, despite his usual abstinence. He had worked himself into an absolute fury, angry at Grantaire, but moreover, angry at the world he had been born into, angry at the society they wanted so badly to reform.

He grumbled to Courfeyrac about all manner of things, expression petulant, but Courfeyrac made no condescension: the two of them talked as freely as brothers, and Grantaire had never seen the other man look so utterly relaxed whilst in public before.

He wrenched his eyes from Enjolras, though, joined his conversation with Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel, laughing, and soon dropping into a game of dice. It was a warm evening, and everyone was in high spirits. When Grantaire dropped the die he thought nothing of it, standing and leaning to pick it up.

Enjolras had not meant for anyone but Courfeyrac to hear the words: the conditions that facilitated his misstep created one of those inopportune silences that makes private sayings ring on the air as clear as alarm bells. And so when Enjolras toasted the air and muttered, "Ah, the cynic's mind is empty, but lo! His buttocks are full!", every man heard.

Grantaire froze in his place, bent at the middle as he was to grasp at the painted wooden block, and everyone else turned to  _stare_  at Enjolras as the blond's cheeks flushed a burning vermilion, as scarlet as the flame that licked at Enjolras' heart and kept him passionate.

For a few moments, Grantaire took a moment to think to himself, "Benoit Enjolras, my verifiable Apollo and leader in red, has just been staring at my backside, and moreover, finds it appealing.", and subsequently allowed himself the barest moment to preen. Whilst his face was ugly, Grantaire's body was not awful.

Alas, Grantaire was a man of impulse and quick wits as much as he was a man of the bottle and the brush, though, and he could not leave such a comment to go unchallenged. He straightened, turning on his heel to regard the blond in a completely different argument to the ones they usually engaged in: a baser one.

"Oh, he speaks such  _woe_  of my empty mind, but no doubt the angel weeps at night for the fact that his mouth is empty of cock!" Joly and Jehan acted as one, each putting hands over their own mouths as they stared at Grantaire with wide eyes, and Bahorel let out a choked sound, obviously unsure whether he should laugh or not.

Enjolras' cheeks reddened yet further, but he stood to his feet, fists clenching at his sides. Combeferre, who had been standing to directly address Grantaire, seated himself again. He was well aware of what Enjolras was intent on when his stance was like this: there would be no sense in stopping Grantaire short, because the blond wanted this argument.

Sighing, he looked to Feuilly, who merely grinned at him, patting Combeferre's shoulder without truly sympathizing with his exasperation.

"At least I've the strength to  _abstain_. Better I than  _you,_ who yearns so much for a constant member pressing at his lips you resort to suckling at the lip of a bottle like a babe!"

"You didn't deny the accusation." Bahorel pointed out, and Grantaire laughed as Enjolras let out a growl of noise. 

" _Abstain_  he says, as if he is some paragon of chastity. I think it more than that." Grantaire moved across the room, moved closer, took a very deliberate sip from his bottle before he talked on and said, "I think you are such a virginal flower you would never know how to take a man to bed."

"You entertain yourself with men and women alike. Better a virgin flower than an  _insatiable_  demon." Enjolras stepped closer too, and now the both of them were very nearly nose to nose, and Grantaire chuckled, leaning down to put his mouth near the other man's. 

"I could turn you into an insatiable demon, I'm certain. Allow me to orchestrate your fall, mon ange."

"Tonight Dionysus attempts a seduction of his Apollo, it would seem." Grantaire's cheeks flushed at the mocking words - the one-time comparison of Enjolras to the sun God had been drunken and ill-advised, and the blond would not  _drop_  the chance to bring up Grantaire's humiliation, damn him. 

"Tonight, Apollo is so desperate he would attempt a seduction of the ugliest man in the room, it would seem." Grantaire returned, mimicking Enjolras' pattern of speech, and the blond's blue eyes went wide, and his neck words were spoken softly, intended only for Grantaire's ears, murmured as they were against his chapped lips.

"Not so ugly as you think. Ugly of physiognomy, perhaps, but not of soul." Grantaire blinked at that, absolutely taken aback, but Enjolras gave him no time to mull over the words, for he spoke again, loudly. "Perhaps I merely go for the man with the most impressive equipment below the neck, if not above it."

"Why, how completely  _presumptuous_ of you." Grantaire remarked, trying to ignore the red burning across his cheeks and heating the flesh.

"You ought to settle the assumptions." Enjolras whispered, and he was tipsy, tipsy enough that he swayed - and Grantaire caught him.

"By  _God_ , I shall." Grantaire murmured, and he crowded Enjolras back towards the door, pushing him into the alley and slamming the door behind them.

"What in God's name just happened?" Bossuet asked, absolutely bemused, and Combeferre shook his head.

"The inevitable." Feuilly answered dryly, lip twitching in obvious amusement. "Shall I take Grantaire's place in your die game, Bahorel?"

In the alley, Grantaire threw Enjolras up against the brick and caught his lips under his own mouth, stubble dragging over Enjolras' clean, naked skin and drawing a choked noise from the blond's throat. "Bed." Enjolras demanded. "Bed me, bed me, spread me out and take me as you wish,  _now_ -"

Grantaire let out a half-hysterical huff of laughter, catching Enjolras' hands and leading him through the streets. "Dear God, man, did I not just tell you I shall? Where is your patience?"

"I lost it when you bent and revealed a glorious curve of  _flesh_  to my eyes." Enjolras returned, and Grantaire  _groaned_.

"Not so virginal as I thought."

"You never asked properly: I never confirmed." Enjolras said breathlessly, doing nothing short of  _run_  alongside Grantaire in the street, and Grantaire was rapid in pushing Enjolras into his rooms, uncaring of being quiet for the sake of his neighbours. He caught Enjolras' lips again, backing him into the room and onto the bed. 

"I should hope my equipment does not disappoint you now." Grantaire said, working furiously at the buttons of his vest and his shirt to throw them across the room as Enjolras impatiently kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his trousers and their cruel impedance.

"It matters not: you've proved your mouth clever enough to make up for any deficiency. Come  _back_  here." Enjolras demanded, and Grantaire did, climbing atop the blond and kissing him greedily - they kissed like drowning men, grabbing at each other's bodies and leaving marks without thinking of it, gasping into each other's mouths. "This is better than discourse."

"Inarguably." Grantaire agreed,  _ripping_  at the buttons of his trousers to get the damn things off. They were soon naked, but it took far too long, and left both of them needy in grasping at each other's flesh and rolling on the mattress together.

Enjolras' hands were clumsy, but they found Grantaire's chest, thumbing over his nipples and drawing choked noises from his throat - Grantaire returned the favour with the first thrust of his hips, cock sliding against Enjolras' and drawing a  _whine_  from the usually so composed chief.

"That is-  _God_ -" Enjolras ground back, and they were left rutting against each other, gasping and moaning against each other's necks and each other's lips. Their orgasms were messy affairs, Grantaire lying atop Enjolras with a wet slick between their bellies, both of them breathing heavily and Grantaire shaking a little with the aftermath of his release.

"Are you quite alright?" Grantaire asked, and Enjolras nodded, eyes half lidded.

"I am just- somewhat taken away with the faeries." He mumbled, tone dreamy. "You should clean this away." Grantaire grabbed at the handkerchief from the vest he'd thrown away, plucking the fabric from its pocket and hurriedly wiping away the white. "That was good."

"Yes." Grantaire agreed. "By God, yes."

"Let's do it again."

" _Now_?"

"Soon." 

"Oh. Very well. Soon." Grantaire chuckled a little, and Enjolras caught him in another kiss, this one slower, and then fell back. "Sleep?"

"By God, I think we've earned it."


End file.
